March 17, 2016

This primary election has brought with it a different sort of climate change--a shift in how Americans are conducting themselves globally, nationally, and in the school yard. Some of it is frightening. Most of it is bad. In contrast, here's a great story about some high school basketball fans near me. Grownups, are you paying attention?

My week has included the following fabulous happenings:

On Saturday my band played the Acton Chef Challenge, a fund raiser for the Acton Food Pantry. Local chefs received a box of ingredients from the food pantry and concocted delicious, beautifully presented contest entries. My 13-year-old friend Ellie put false eyelashes on me. We rocked the house and the event raised $15,000. Here is I am playing air guitar, or something:

While getting ready to leave for my monthly book club (Honeydew by Edith Pearlman), I saw my arrow necklace tangled up in my jewelry box. My friend Trish is a crackerjack necklace untangler, and my first thought was to bring it to book club and ask Trish to do her magic. But I have asked her to untangle this very same necklace on at least one previous occasion. I felt like a big dope. I decided to try it myself. I grabbed an earring with a long, thin post and set about picking at the knot. Before long I was wearing my necklace and a matching shiny sense of accomplishment. (When I got to book club, Trish actually seemed disappointed, which was not my intention at all.)

At said book club meeting, my friend Heather revealed that she had never tried, or even heard of, Reese's Pieces. Shocking AND hilarious--two great tastes that taste great together.

And this is how my boys styled themselves for school today. Éirinn go Brách!

Here is a picture of Charlie with his lifelong friend Liam. They played on the same rec department basketball team, which lost in the first round of the end-of-season tournament on Saturday. They were sad for approximately 1.5 minutes, and then they went to Dunkin' Donuts. If college admissions were based on sweetness, Charlie and Liam would be accepted via the seven-years-in-advance early admission program.

Jeff and I were feeling a kind of joy when we got to go inside our first house. Our friend Alicia still lives next door, and she has started walking the dog who belongs to the people who live in our sweet little old house. We weren't sure how we'd feel when she let us take a peek. We remember the kitchen tile popping up and cracking because the subfloor was wonky; we always worried that if we met the new owners they'd be furious with us for selling them a money pit. But when we went inside, everything looked lovely. The dining room where I started this blog 10 years ago has a fresh coat of pale yellow paint. The cherry bar top that Jeff made still graces the kitchen. And the tile looks fantastic.

We snuck this selfie. Then I gave him a bittersweet hug. It was like visiting a past life.

March 09, 2016

March 08, 2016

Although I do believe that the sky is in fact falling, the firehose of negativity during this presidential election is going to knock me down unless I focus on positive things. Plus there's that sidebar on Facebook that keeps showing me headlines about missing or dead children. So until November 8, 2016, I will be blogging once a day about positive change. Then we'll see what happens next.

In California, ocean scientists have found that old offshore oil platforms are teeming with marine life. Is this purely positive? Some people think the rigs should be removed. Watch the video and think about it. I loved seeing all the colorful critters.

Here on land, Summer had the fanciest hair in the radiology waiting room. She landed wrong during the first few seconds of an Irish dancing competition. The GOOD news is, she did not break any of the little bones in her foot. And Charlie and Oscar raised $1,736 for The Decibels Foundation. This organization funds the Early Intervention hearing loss support program we went through with baby Charlie. How did they do it? They wore the same shirt every day for a week. No wonder it is called Stink Week.

July 31, 2015

My neighbor Belle has been gone for exactly 13 months. Sometimes we feel sad about it. Jeff and I snuck down to the pond for a kid-free dip one night at the beginning of the summer. I waded in and then turned around, mosquitoes dive bombing my head and shoulders. There were fairy lights twinkling in Belle's bungalow. Scared me silly. "They must be solar powered," Jeff said. After I recovered, I started to feel like it was Belle saying "Hi guys! Enjoy your swim!"

Right now what I'm feeling is frustrated. If Belle were here, she could help. She is pretty much the only person who could help.

Here's what's happening. There is a beautiful old farmhouse across the street from our elementary school:

One of the founding families of our town built the house in 1735. Later it was the home of a noted poet, one of the few cultural contributions our redheaded stepchild town has made, situated as we are next to another town that spawned the greatest thinkers in American history.

Another man now owns the house. He grew up there and presumably enjoyed its lovely landscape. This man had an older sister with Down Syndrome. Their parents were disappointed with the lack of options for adults with developmental disabilities. The man now wishes to build a group home for developmentally disabled adults. A worthy endeavor, to be sure. To pay for the construction of the group home, he will build...

Wait for it...

FOURTEEN two- and three-bedroom houses on the lot. And remove the antique barn. And since the eight slots in the group home count as "affordable housing units," he can use the state's 40B affordable housing statute to run roughshod over neighborhood zoning.

See that circular drive? It's blocked off by about 20 school buses twice a day all year. There is so much wrong with this I can't believe that anyone with two eyes and a brain could even consider this plan.

But everyone is caving. The affordable housing committee in our town is rolling over like the fat Labrador retriever snoring under my desk as I type this, paws twitching in somnolent delight. The neighbors, who'd at first gone at this en fuego, are now playing nicely with the developer in fear that if they don't, he'll somehow make it even worse.

This house, this barn, this property--in some ways it's like Cecil the lion. No amount of money can replace it. Once it's gone, we can't get it back. You can't build a new 280-year-old house.

What you *can* do is build the group home somewhere else.

Belle would know what to do. She knew everyone, every elected official, every volunteer on every committee. She easily spouted bits of law. She'd know which town board, which state agency, which mover, which shaker, could help save this house.

She was also a fierce defender of property rights, and it's entirely possible that she'd back up this guy because he owns it, so he can do what he damn well pleases with it.

But something tells me that she'd figure out a way to make it OK, or at least less awful.

May 24, 2015

This week's paper carries a legal notice from Belle's cousin in South Carolina. He is petitioning to be named personal representative of the estate. The will Belle signed three days before she died names a land developer as the personal representative. The developer has a purchase and sale agreement ready to go for three house lots on my road. The cousin's petition will presumably delay that agreement.

I took this picture through the window of Belle's cabin down by the pond. The house that she lived in, up by the road and right next to our house, is not part of the developer's first phase of work. The town has put a big white placard with a red X on the house. This means that firefighters should not try to save the structure if it is on fire.

I've emailed the town's historical commission to let them know we are interested in preserving the house. It is on the state and local historic inventories, but not the register. The commission's chairman wrote back and said they can't do anything until the developer petitions to do something with the house. After that, they can start the process to evaluate and maybe save the house.

January 28, 2015

Ladies and gentlemen, my band is pleased to present this epic snow day video, shot and edited by our school principal with vocals by yours truly. There's another guy out there, a private school headmaster who looks a bit like Where's Waldo, whose snow day video went viral. Langer Loksh readers, you can make us huge stars by watching and sharing our video. Our custodian should really be getting a VMA award for this. #Pitbull #blizzardof2015 #snowday